Midnight café. A waitress brings a crumbly French toast from the laundromat dryer. Pulp magazines on the table are full of cheap confession stories.

Your puzzled face confesses to want to go home. Snow falls on a paper cup of coffee. A cold wind at the end of winter waves goodbye to our salad days.

We used to dance in the backyard just before the turn of the 21st century. The bus stop seemed so far away. We believed there was still time until dawn.

…

hiromi suzuki is a poet, fiction writer, artist living in Tokyo. Her writing has appeared in 3:AM Magazine, RIC journal, Berfrois, Minor Literature[s] and various literary journals on-line.